To Exist in a Broken World (Beta)
by Smashing Good Time
Summary: An old story that I have reuploaded for archival purposes. This is the story of a drug-dealing Dewott and his efforts to etch out something resembling to a normal life in an overpopulated futuristic metropolis. Unfortunately for him, said metropolis is beginning to merge with the fantasy world of a notorious video game. And he's been chosen as the main protagonist!
1. Prologue

**A Foreword**

_You know who we are. Why else would you have picked this e-book up? We're all over the news: all thirteen of us. We're referred to as heroes, for Arceus's sake. Our names and associates classes are being recorded down, and praises will be sung of us for generations to come. We wiped the city from existence, albeit accidentally, and then brought it back the very next day. The only way you couldn't possibly know about us is if you'd been hiding under the sewers or something. And even then, you'd probably see a copy being passed around by the homeless Pokemon living there._

_Now that's out of the way, bear in mind that our story is not a lighthearted one. You might already have an inkling about that, considering all the chaos we've been wreaking throughout the streets, but I'm only saying this is because the politicians (or rather, the incompetent fools with all bark and no bite) of the city want me to record our story for future generations. Are they expecting this to be a children's storybook, to be read aloud at bedtimes; or a thrilling adolescent novel, for hikkomoris to write creepy erotic pseudofiction about? Do they assume that this tale will be watered down and prettified to help the citizens of Technogakure sleep at night? I honestly wish this wasn't the case; but when I attended the meeting with the Cybermancer and the Adept, I saw were leery eyes and greedy expressions. _

_No._

_I will not play into their hands. I cannot. To do so would be a great disservice to my comrades, everyone who helped us reach where we are, and the remnants of the Pokemon race as a whole._

_The good thing about being the leader is that you get to make the important decisions. The knowledge the politicians want is information that can only found through the blood we shed and the trials we faced. That's something I don't want anyone to experience, ever. Part of the reason why we worked so hard, honestly. But they may have a point. If there's anything the hell we faced has taught us, it's that the future is a great unknown. Anything can happen, and it's best to be prepared. To make these politicians to shut up, I've written down what I feel will be important._

_The key phrase being: 'what I feel will be important.'_

_They want me to write my memoirs. Fine. I'll do it. But I'll do it my own way. And I'm strong and experienced enough to get my way. _

**The Past**

_Look at the past, one would be forgiven for thinking that it's nigh irrelevant to the future. We Pokemon have made the same mistakes over and over again throughout history, and we never seem to learn. War. Disaster. Extortion and the like. But I hope that through our records, the next generation can finally acknowledge the importance of the natural world around them, and work towards shaping it for the better._

_There is something I feel needs to be mentioned. A thousand years ago, there were apparently over six hundred species of sentient, living Pokemon in the world. Fast forward to today. That number has been halved completely._

_Now examine the world we live in, the recent past and the present._

_Think about it._

* * *

><p>The year is 300X.<p>

The location is Technogakure, somewhere in the southern ends of the planet, surrounded by vast expanses of wasteland and mountains. The name was an awkward mismatch of present and ancient tongue, loosely translating to 'the city of technology.' The damn name had been plastered on billboards everywhere, like an irremovable black stain conjured from the very bowels of hell.

An apt analogy for miles and miles of refined metal, concrete, neon lights, gas fumes and not much else. Home to around twenty million Pokemon of around three hundred varying species, it was a metropolis that had discarded the soul for progress. The result of a thousand years of development, the obvious question notwithstanding. If nature is what you want; you've definitely come at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

A Dewott stepped out into a near-deserted street, the bag containing his meagre possessions slung over his cobalt back, his beady black eyes staring up at the horizon in front. The skyscrapers in distance reached to the clouds and then some, and he could taste the soot and petrol gas on his very tongue. Today's forecast: dark grey smog covering every inch of the sky. The sad truth was that today, where the smog didn't cause air-based poisoning, was far better than most days. He, and the rest of the city, had lucked out.

"Leaving already?"

The Dewott turned around, seeing a middle-aged Kangaskhan caretaker stand on the front step. She smiled at him, eyes glistening. The feeling was mutual. Behind her, children of differing species squabbled and played amongst the hallways.

"I'm sixteen already." The Dewott said, smiling faintly. "Time to move out, like the rest."

"You will always be welcome here, you know." The Kangaskhan said. "You, and the rest of the orphans that I've found on the street, will always part of my family. If there's anything you need: a warm meal, a bed for the night or even motherly advice…just ring the doorbell."

"I know." The Dewott stepped forward and embraced the caretaker, his head coming to a rest on her shoulder. The Kangaskhan's eye briefly widened in mild surprise, before returning the hug. "But as you said, every meeting has its farewell. I've grown up, and it's time for me to see the rest of the city. Plus, the budget is stretched thinner than plastic clingfilm. But I will miss you, Mother Dolorosa."

"And I will miss you too, child." Dolorosa said. "The future is rarely bright in this city, but I hope yours turns out for the best."

They let go. Nothing more needed to be said.

"Goodbye, young one."

"Goodbye, Mother Dolorosa. Thanks for everything you've done for me."

With that, the young Dewott walked off down the street at a leisurely pace, his meagre possessions jangling in his bag, heading towards an uncertain future.

**...**

_There's not really much I want to say about the meat of Technogakure…yet. Obviously we travelled there, and some of us were born there, but that happened much later. Its towering skyscrapers and twisting roads are irrelevant to the first stages of the story. Don't get me wrong, Technogakure is a nice enough place—a lesson that took some of my friends a bit too long to learn, but that's not the place everything began._

_I don't know where I was born. My parents, or some random junkie on the street, dumped me as a baby on the doorstep of Mother Dolorosa's Orphanage. That's doesn't really matter, though._

_The main focus of this section will be about south side of the city. The part with its foot stuck in the grave for years and years._

_The infamous Downtown._

_..._

Walk past the Statue of Honor, head across the rusting iron bridge, traverse the maze of streets and buildings, and finally make your way through the abandoned police blockade.

Welcome to Downtown. It was a split off district, a stark contrast to Technogakure. Prepare yourself for disease, felonies and poverty. It used to be the secondary manufacturing sector of the city, before a massive gang war broke out with the police and the whole place went under lockdown. Now it was riddled with crime; square kilometres of abandoned warehouses, stolen goods and violence.

The strong bullied the weak.

"_Keep your wits about you, Minato." _an older boy had once said, when the Dewott hadn't yet grown to be a Dewott, but a young Oshawott,_ "Stand tall. Don't let anyone see your weakness. Otherwise, you're nothing but a smear on the sidewalk."_

It's a well known fact that police no longer respond to an alert from Downtown. Partly due to fear, and partly due to the sheer danger that awaits them. That unofficial clause was made over fifty years ago. It's what happens when you force arrested gang members into weapon manufacturing-military grade energy weapons in particular.

"What do you want?"

The Dewott leaned back on a broken lamp post, arms crossed. A worn, mock-leather bag was slung on one shoulder. Small, mass-produced plastic packets pay inside, full to the brim of chemicals in varying colors: snow white, orange, pitch black.

Drugs.

He had cocaine, meth, weed, ice and every toxic chemical under the smog. Slow, addictive killers that could simultaneously make Pokemon feel the absolute best and worst, he often mused, whenever he caught whiff of new stock. They were brewed in various parts of his world, inside hidden laboratories and smoky worn factories, then shipped to all the way to Technogakure via underground routes.

His job was simple. Receive stock from various suppliers, deal it on any street corner he could find, and watch as his customers grew addicted day after day; some vanishing from the face of Downtown forever. Sometimes he delivered packages to mystery clients, stalking through the shadows as he followed the eerily motherly voice of the head dealer's contact line.

There was no honor in selling drugs, and the Dewott knew that. But there was also no honor in starving to death, without a roof over one's head. It wasn't like he had any other career choices, mind. High school and university were foreign concepts to him.

A Kabutops jigged crazily in front of him, claws twitching violently. Minato saw the blood streaking through his dilated pupils, and a constant stream of unintelligible muttering flowing out of the Kabutops's fanged mouth. The man guy was on speed, amphetamine to be scientific. Judging by the way he acted, he mostly likely had been snorting the white powder up his nose for a couple of days. Minato's paw casually drifted down to the knife attached on his belt. Drug dealing could get violent, especially if the customer was all hyped up. He had years of experience.

"Speed. Four packets. Now!" The Kabutops chattered, fangs grinding. The Dewott rolled his eyes and began to rummage through his used to amaze him how some people would forgo food and shelter exchange for chemicals that would eventually kill them.

Time had done a number on that. Their world, their rules. If they wanted to commit suicide via ingestion of foreign chemicals, who was he to judge?

"That'll be 100 brouzouf."

The Kabutops shoved a wad of coins and bills into the Dewott's hands and scuttled off, presumably to find a deserted spot and inhale the newly purchased drugs.

The Dewott sighed and slouched back on the lamp post.

That guy was a criminal, renowned for murdering people while high on whatever drugs he could get at the time. Speed and ectasy were a personal favourite. He was well aware of this, and yet he still sold him the goods.

Life in Downtown, and by extension the rest of the future.

Look out for yourself.

_It's shocking, isn't it? After all, drugs are outlawed in Technogakure, punishable by long-term imprisonment or death. In Downtown, however, people are allowed to do whatever the hell they want. It's unfortunate that conditions like those bring out the worst in people. And who's going to stop them? The gangs? If anything, they encourage it._

_But that was life for sixteen years. Harsh, brutal, merciless. You'd either adapt or get spat out and crushed into mush. I learned the drug trade when I was ten years old, unevolved. Traders would stop by the orphanage to say hello, and I picked up the knowledge from them. I started working when I was thirteen. I made a lot of mistakes in three years, but eventually I grew independent enough to support myself._

_It's a terrible job, selling chemicals that literally kill people. Why do you think I left the orphanage at sixteen? Normally kids are supposed to move out at eighteen. I was setting a bad example to my peers. They saw the cash I was taking home; the stock stuffed under the bunk. For impoverished kids, the prospect must've been really exciting. But Mother Dolorosa and I didn't want them treading down the same path. Drug dealing brings in a lot of brouzouf, but there are costs you have to pay—moral, physical, mental. _

_It's arguably not worth it._

Storm clouds, thick and ominous, blanketed the sky. Today was a terrible day to be out on the streets.

_I grew up as a somewhat cynical person. Seeing the world around you does that to you. Logic first, belief last._

_I never believed in things unless they were real. Even then, that's not believing. You know that something has been proven to exist, so how can you believe in it?_

_You just know._

"Child, do you believe in Arceus?"

The Dewott looked up. An elderly Alakazam, dressed in tattered robes, peered down at him. She was the local priest. Her home: a church with cracked stained glass and worn pews.

"No." He replied, looking back down again to his phone. "I do not believe that a god exists."

The priest hummed. "It's said that once Pokemon find faith, their lives become much happier. It guides them through the day, hope keeping their spirits. What about you, child? What makes you get out of bed in the morning to face the world?"

"The will to survive." The Dewott said in a monotone, tapping the touch-screen lightly. "If I don't get up and sell stock, I won't have anything to eat. Simple as that."

"You sound quite miserable. Perhaps you should convert to Arceism, then. Attend a sermon or two. Maybe you'll find peace in your soul." The priest suggested. "How about it?"

"Thanks, but no thanks." The Dewott muttered. "I really am not interested. And I definitely am agnostic."

"A true shame, then." The priest muttered, "Do you mind explaining why, though?"

The Dewott looked at the Alakazam. His gaze wandered over to the red smog lurking above, the cracked roads, the drug sack tied to his belt and the laser pistol loaded with its ammunition.

"What do you think?"

_Miracles are fake. Myths are fake. Everything that couldn't be proven science or evidence did not exist._

_That's what I believed, anyway. It's not like I was ashamed or anything. Most people in Downtown are cynical to some degree. The atmosphere does that do you._

_But then our adventure happened._

_Looking back now, as a more mature and experienced person, I now know that I was so, so very __**wrong.**_

_My name is Izanagi. I am a Dewott, a pure Water-type. At the time of beginning I was sixteen and a half years old._

_Welcome to my world._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This is an old story that I deleted a long time ago. It seemed to have a number of fans, so I decided to reupload it.**

**I may continue this in the future. Please review and give feedback! It gives me a fuzzy feeling to know that people are reading my works.**

**Very important notice: ALL CONTENT MAY BE SUBJECT TO CHANGES OR REVISION IN A NEW STORY IN THE FUTURE.**


	2. Izanagi's Everyday Life

**A/N: The time between the introduction and this chapter is a painful reminder to all of us that I really should plan out my writing before starting it.**

**Seriously this thing went through two drafts, and even then I don't think I'm completely satisfied with it.**

**Sorry.**

_from pm import tytalis;_

_define function = narrative_

_[narrative].execute() ;_

_print narrative_

Six years ago, if he had told Izanagi that he would be sitting in his very own apartment, typing away at a laptop, he would have laughed in your face. Orphans were obviously too poor for personal computers. There was no way he would be able to afford one, not in a million years.

Of course, at that time, he wouldn't have understood the monetary appeal of selling drugs on the street.

_hey guess what_

What?

_a new game has come out on the app market_

_and it's totally awesome and addictive_

_goty 3013 man_

_me and my bro have had shitloads of fun playing it_

Really, now?

Izanagi blinked, and looked deeper into the glare of the computer screen. It was one of those old LCD versions, the type that would fry your eyeballs if you stared at it for too long. He had booted up the creaking machine to check the Internet, when one of his old friends from the orphanage started messaging him. Rare, as he hardly ever chatted with people online. He couldn't really find much to talk about in the first place.

So, what is this mysterious game of yours about?He replied, under the nickname 'unearthlyspontanic'.

His friend, a chap by the name of THeIntrospectivePrimate, replied almost instantly.

_it's a puzzle game_

A puzzle game.Izanagi typed back. And why do you think I would be interested in a puzzle game? I can barely run last generation's games on this shitty laptop of fine.

_yeah man i know_

_but_

_this is way better than all the other puzzle games out there_

_it's for the mobile and it doesn't hog a lot of RAM. _

Okay.

_seriously dude you should definitely try it out_

_its not like you have stuff to do today_

I do have stuff to do today. I have to work.

_i don't_

_Your point being?_

_look i'll just send you to apk over_

_just try it. you won't regret it._

Fine. Send me the file. Then hold on a few minutes. I need to eat something.

Ignoring the protest of '_come on man, don't leave me hanging' _scrawled across the computer screen, Izanagi stood up from his desk and walked the few paces towards a small, bare kitchen.

_Another day, another batch of drugs to sell. _The young Dewott yawned and ran his paw through his whiskers. _Same old, same old. _

Get up. Eat food. Equip, leave and head to the streets to sell drugs. Every day was the same. For him, there were hardly any full rest days. He had to work; to survive.

He boiled water and made himself a cup of sim-coffee, more for the warmth than the taste. The prefix described the beverage perfectly, both in composition and taste. 'Just like the real thing!', the satchets claimed. Izanagi rolled his eyes. Coffee beans had gone extinct long ago. Then scientists discovered a way to emulate the taste by mixing together certain compounds, and Technogakure's most popular morning beverage was thus born.

He sipped some of the steaming brown beverage straight from the hard plastic cup. Of course, it tasted awful without sugar, something Izanagi couldn't really afford, but it was great for waking up in the morning.

Food came next.

He tore a hole in the cellophane wrapping of a flash meal pack, then stuck it in a battered microwave and set the heat to high. Beef and potato breakfast, read the label. The meal packages had been army rations before the worldwide ceasefire had come into place. Downtown suppliers bought up the surplus and sold them to the starving residents of the sector for an inflated price.

Artificial flavouring, saturated with preservatives and hormones buried deep in every bite…this was the meal of the future, and Izanagi had been eating their type since he was a little Oshawott.

_Wonder what the kids in the orphanage are doing right now. _The tiniest hint of a grin appeared on his mouth. _Mother Dolorosa is probably screaming at them to get up to eat their breakfast._

His gaze wandered over the computer, the food steaming gently in his paws. _I shouldn't leave him hanging. _

I'm back. 

_fucking finally_

_so here's the file_

_download it with your phone and get ready for hours and hours of sicknasty fun_

That's it?

_yeah_

Izanagi shrugged and retrieved out his phone. Flipping on Bluethooth, he synced it with his computer wireless communication system, directly sending the file from the Net into the 1TB store space.

**Application apk. File found. Install?**

_Sure, why not? _Izanagi thought, and tapped the screen once.

**Installing…**

**Installing…**

**Application successfully installed.**

**AETHER**

**A Trial of the World Beyond**

**New Game**

**Load Game**

**Settings**

And that was it. The game had been activated, revealing its full glory to the young Dewott. A simple logo, a couple of yellow buttons a light blue background dotted with clouds and tinny music vibrating through the speakers. The so called 'goty 3013', straight from the mouth of one TheIntrospectivePrimate.

Truly, this was the most impeccably designed game of the generation, hugely satisfying to complete with impressive backdrops and lovingly hand-painted environments.

Izanagi shovelled some food in his mouth, to sate the shrieking hunger inside of him, and started typing.

What the hell is this shit.

_oh you finally downloaded it_

_what do you think?_

It looks like crap.

Seriously, this is your game of the year?

Unbelievable.

_dude you haven't even fucking tried it out yet_

_press new game_

What exactly is the point of this game?

_just start the damn thing already_

I asked first.

_fine_

_the game gives you a riddle and then you have to solve it_

_that's it_

_for some reason it's hella addicting_

…

Are you kidding me.

That's it?

_yeah, so?_

Sigh.

I really don't have time for this.

_what oh come on_

I have work to do. Actual stock to unload off people.

_dammit izanagi im not working today and neither is my little bro_

Your bro is ten years old, man.

Look, I promise I'll try this Aether game out later, but I need to finish my breakfast.

Then I have to get onto the streets.

See you around, man.

_(UnearthlySpontanic has logged out)_

He shoved his laptop aside, across small steel table. More important things were at stake here, stuff that didn't consist of him wasting precious hours on video games.

No, he had to first quell the raging beast inside his stomach, by calmly eating the remainder of his breakfast.

So he proceeded.

He grinded through each mouthful slowly, not bothering to wonder about the finer details of the meal pack. It had three sections: meat, vegetable and carbohydrates. All of them looked nothing like the advertisements. Knowing would probably end up dampening his mood anyway.

He washed down most of it with the sim-coffee, the unique bitterness of the beverage masking the dryness of the food.

_God, that game looked like ass. Well, it's not fair to judge a game based on its graphics, but it doesn't look like much fun. _He thought, as he lobbed the plastic tray, in an arc, into the bin. He would have to take out the trash later this week. _Why the heck did he try to get me to play it?_

He sighed as leaned back in his chair. The hard plastic creaked. _You're a drug dealer. I don't have time for that stuff. Focus on securing your next meal. Pay your electricity bills. Survive for another day._

_I'll give it a whirl later, but I probably won't enjoy it. _He whispered to himself as he climbed up and headed for the doorway. He did that a lot. Sometimes the emptiness around him needed to be filled, even with his own words.

_It's not like video games are life-changing experiences. _He thought. He couldn't help but smirk at the mental image of a game destroying the world. That sort of stuff only happened in teenage webcomics. _My world won't be any different, now that it's installed on my phone._

He packed up his stock, equipped his shock rod and walked towards the door.

Time to work.

XXX

**8:00**

The sky was dreary as usual. No sun. Dark grey clouds, and cascading sheets of rain with every second. The young Dewott stood outside the steel-grey apartment building, right under its looming shadow, looking up through the gap in the buildings.

Izanagi couldn't remember the last time he had seen clear skies. No-one could. Toxins in the air caused water molecues too bond efficiently, too efficiently. They fell to the ground like missiles, smashing the pavement and taking out the eyes of those unfortunate to look up during the storm.

Strangely, Izanagi had never really concerned himself about the rain. He could tolerate it to an extent. It was more or less an annoyance, soaking through his fur, making him cold and miserable. Reports of conditions like his had popped across the city. The big scientists in the labs were apparently trying to source out the reason for this.

Whatever.

_Where should I go now? _He thought, staring at the pouring water. _To the market district? Should I just stay at home today? _His hands wandered down to the butt of his laser pistol. Always keep your clip loaded—a rule that he had learned quicker than some.

Mail had arrived on his phone. A strange occurrence, he thought. Nobody had sent him a text in weeks. They were too busy with their own lives, probably. His somewhat antisocial nature didn't really help matters, too.

From Rune Johanson, the message read. Instantly memories flooded into Izanagi's mind, like the water rushing through a hole in a dam. Painful, embarrassing memories of him being kicked out of a bar for trying to sell drugs, with the Lopunny bartender yelling at him at the top of his lungs. One of his former friends from the orphanage had tried to take photos of the incident. He had been forced to yank the phone out of the dude's hands and toss it in a nearby dumpster.

_Arceus, why?_

He cringed and rolled his eyes. Might as well check out the text. Hopefully, it wouldn't be something completely humiliating this time.

_To Izanagi,_

_I heard from my patrons that you're always on the lookout for work that doesn't involve selling drugs. It just turns out that today a big party is headed towards my bar, and I need a few extra hands to set up. Would you be willing to help?_

_P.S. Please don't try to deal in my bar. Don't make me sic my bouncer on your ass._

_From Rune._

_Well, this is certainly interesting. _Izanagi said, shoving the phone into his pack. _Somebody is actually offering me work. Fuck it, it's not like I have anything better to do today. Even so…_

He walked down the street, passing overturned barrels and rusting lampposts. The streets would come alive in an hour or so, and with it the danger level would rise. Best be on his way before someone stabbed a poor sap in the ribs, or blew his head off with a pulse gun.

He left.

There was work to be done.

XXX

**9:00 am**

"Are you sure you don't want to sign up?"

Izanagi stared into the dark shades of Krookodile dealer with an increasingly unamused look in his eyes. "You ask me this same question everytime I come here. The answer is no."

When Downtown had been abandoned, the sector's residents had quickly taken roost in the numerous empty buildings. Police stations were a prime example. Chock full of weapons, supplies and powerful technology, they became notorious for housing gangs and their kin.

Izanagi sat on a prosthetic leather swivel stool, idling picking at the cotton stuffing through the cracks. In front of him a desk, a wall of reinforced transparent plastic on top, and a hole at the middle of the very bottom.

Had this been a place of order and righteousness, a police officer would have sat behind the counter, carefully storing any confiscated items.

Now it was host to boxes and boxes of drugs. Cocaine, weed, meth…all of which were prime and ready to be dealed out and sold on the streets.

"You'll never be more than a hanger-on if you keep up like this." The dealer said. "Nobody respects hangers-on. They're treated worse than a nest rust mites."

"I'm not even seventeen years old." Izanagi growled. "I just want to take life one day at a time. Is that too much to ask." _And I want to live. _He added mentally, keeping his expression as neutral as possible. You couldn't say these types of things around here. It often led to getting your skull caved in.

"I'm only offering you this because you're good at who do. Not many people pay their deposit as fast as you do."

"Sorry, I'm really not interested." _The only reason I pay your fee so quickly is because I'm a cautious guy!_

The Krookodile dealer sighed. "Well, I can't force you to sign up. Still, if you change your mind…"

"Yeah, no." Izanagi said. "Now, are you going to give me the drugs or not?"

"Fine." The dealer adjusted his shades, then passed over several small cardboard boxes. Dull brown outside, colourful inside. It was the standard set Izanagi was sent out to sell on the streets. Cocaine, meth, cannabis and even a few satchets of LSD—It would take him at least a week to rid himself of it all. "Your fee is 30% as usual. We expect you'll have the 70% delivered to us in a fortnight. Standard penalties apply."

"Yeah, thanks." Izanagi stuffed the boxes inside his pack and stood up. He didn't really like staying in gang hideouts. For outsiders like him, the tension in the air was as thick as proverbial butter. Not that he would know—he couldn't afford it. "See you later, I guess."

"Oh, by the way." The Krookodile called. Izanagi sighed and turned around. "An order for some cannabis came by this morning. Think you could deliver it?"

"A package?" _More work for me, then. _"Very well. I'll do it.'

_I don't believe I need to provide much exposition on the most notorious gang in Downtown. Chances are, you've already heard about them already._

_Strega._

_The symbol of a crimson blood streak, crossed with a gun. I practically saw that sign every day. Out of all the gangs and groups in their sector, they were most prominent, controlling the majority of the streets. Fuck, they even had their grubby hooks in the water filtration station and the local power plant. That's how enormous they were._

_You could say Strega were my first employers. This being a rather loose term, mostly because I never really was part of their gang. Every fortnight, one of their members would give me a huge set of drug packs. I had a fortnight to sell them all, and rake in the cash. They would demand 70% of the money. The rest I got to keep for myself. _

_And that was my life. Well, until everything I knew came cascading down around me._

_Since then, Strega has changed. Big time. _

**10:00 am**

One word could describe the delivery run: irony. It was small comfort for Izanagi, as he trudged from the gang outpost back towards the south. Of all the people in Technogakure to order that one package today, and of all the places in Downtown to receive it from…it just had to be Nix Wildfire, otherwise known as Izanagi's next door neighbour.

_Dammit Nix,_ Izanagi thought bitterly, walking back towards the apartment building as the rain battered down on his teal fur. Discontent coursed through his mind—something not usual for him. _You don't even smoke that much weed. You probably still have a batch left at home._

He pushed open the dusty glass doors, marked with the disgusting Strega sign, and entered the elevator. Up he went, the little metal box clanking and rumbling through the shaft. The things were damn unreliable, breaking down at the worst of times. But, Izanagi reasoned, it sure beat climbing four flights of stairs with a bag loaded with drugs on your back.

"Nix, get out here." He said, slamming his paw on the intercom. He didn't even have to ask. He knew she liked being indoors. "Your package is here."

A second of silence, then a soft voice vibrated through the miniscule speakers.

"Coming."

The iron door opened; it swept across the enamel floorboards. He looked up and saw a Blaziken staring down at him. Instead of the usual yellow most of her kind wore, she had white feathers coated around the lower portion of her legs.

"Hey."

"Izanagi…" Nix muttered. _Quiet as usual, huh. _She was always like that, ever since the day she moved in."How much?"

"One hundred dinars. For the weed and the acid tablets, correct?" Izanagi rummaged through his pack for the goods.

"Yes." Nix followed and searched through a small leather pouch for notes and coins. Behind her, Izanagi could see piles and piles of boxes, along with a futon and a small stack of machine parts. The air tasted a little musty, despite the curtains behind thrown open.

"Been jacking cars with Strega again, huh?" Izanagi said, eyeing the boxes as he handed over his. No doubt they were full of contraband: wires, engine components and other assorted materials. "You're going to fill your apartment with refined steel and rust mites if this keeps up."

"I've yet to deliver these parts to the factory." Nix said firmly. "But it's raining today. Everyone knows what that means."

"Yeah, I do." He sighed.

An uncomfortable silence passed as the two Pokemon tried their best to not to stare at each other in the eyes. Izanagi fidgeted with his bag, and Nix looked down. Inevitable really, given Nix's shyness and Izanagi's somewhat antisocial behaviour. He suddenly felt glad no-one was around.

"See you," Nix mumbled, and closed the door.

"You too," Izanagi muttered, and headed down the hallway towards his room. If he was going to work at Rune's bar, he wouldn't be allowed to sell drugs. The woman got tetchy if he did so. It was quite maddening, considering she burned through multiple cigarette's a day. Since he was on his floor, he might as well drop off his stock at his home anyway. Wouldn't want some crazed junkie to try and assault him for his drugs, considering Downtown's population…

_Nix, is—no, was rather distant and disconnected from her peers. I will not detail why, partly because I want to avoid spoilers, and also because her past is something that needs quite a bit of explaining to do. A few paragraphs won't be sufficient._

_Though, if you asked the old her about it, she would say even less than that amount._

XXX

**11:00 pm**

Sweat, blood and testosterone. The Four words could sum up the whole of the underground fight club. Owned by Strega, Downtown's most notorious gang, the place was a haven for the aggressive and the deranged; a pit where they could put their inner rage to use, by viciously destroying their opponent in every way possible.

_There are no rules for fighting, aside from not using the audience. _The sign on the front entrance read. _If you're too much of a pussy to enter, fuck off._

Izanagi knew he had to be careful here. He had seen a couple of old wild west flicks as a kid, and couldn't help but make comparisons every time he descended down the dust-covered stairs. Fights could get started over every little thing. A fine line existed between being too passive and being too aggressive, and he had tread carefully along it.

He trod down the stairs, avoiding any patrons. Despite the atmosphere, he couldn't help but grin. The fight club was a prime spot for him. He could sell a great number of drugs here, especially on tournament days.

After dealing out some packs of cocaine to a group of bystanders, his eyes noticed a young Mienfoo, a damp towel slung around her neck. He smiled, and walked over to sit down next to her. Her body reeked of sweat, streaking through her fur and coating her muscles. Someone had been working out for most of the morning.

"Yo." He said, plonking himself on the steel bench.

The Mienfoo whipped around with an almighty scowl, but softened upon seeing Izanagi's otter features. "Oh. It's you."

"Not going to school today, huh?" Izanagi muttered. "What is this, the hundredth time you've played hooky?"

The Mienfoo scowled. "You know full well why I don't go there. Besides, they've probably already crossed my name off the list by now." She placed her head in her hands, watching a fight between a heavily built Aggron and a Hitmonchan in one of the rings. It abruptly ended when the Hitmonchan smashed the Aggron right in the ribs, sending the iron beast crashing to the ground.

"Sure, whatever." Izanagi replied. "By the way, has your dad suspected anything yet?"

"Nah." The Mienfoo said, ripping off the towel and slapping it down next to her. "Still thinks I'm keeping up with my_ education. _Andhe wonders where the steady stream of money comes from."

"Or maybe he knows but doesn't give a shit." Izanagi said. "It's kinda hard to not notice you, what with being one of the recurring champions of the Little Cup." He thought for a moment. "Strega-sponsored, no less."

"Look, it rakes in the dollars, alright?" She snapped. "I don't see you having a single dad to support. What the hell are you doing down here, anyway?"

"Working. You know, selling toxic chemicals. The usual." Izanagi said blithely. The Mienfoo raised an eyebrow, so he elaborated. "Fine, I heard you were in the area and decided to check up on you. What, is that a crime now?"

"You don't have to call your drugs toxins." His female companion said. "We get it. You don't snort or inhale the shit. You hate selling them. Big deal."

"Yeah, got it miss Champion." Izanagi said, rolling his eyes, causing the Mienfoo to growl in irritation. "Listen, call me if your dad is up for a double drug run. I like working with him."

His only response was a tomboyish grunt. _Whatever, _the message said.

"Okay, I'm going back to work on the surface. See ya, Ashka." Smiling faintly, Izanagi grabbed his bag and moved to walk towards the exit. "Good luck eviscerating your opponents, okay?"

"Yeah, whatever." Ashka mumbled back. She paused, then raised a paw in farewell. "Thanks, Izanagi."

"No problem."

XXX

The time was noon. The skies were beginning to clear up. He could feel the sun's rays poking through the smog-ridden skyline, bathing the city in pale green light. The sector's residents, most of which had avoided the rain like the proverbial plague, were beginning to emerge from their dwellings.

Izanagi walked down the concrete path of Morra Parade, past the entrance to the junkyard and into Downtown's shopping district. Vendors were warming up their stoves and warmers, protecting their wares with large, vicious animals or a variety of sidearms.

"How much for those noodles?"

"Ten dollars."

He sat on an upturned bin, slurping down the yellow noodles. Sitting on the curb left you liable to mugging. Even in the most crowded street of Downtown, the prepared were always lurking in the shadows, ready to take advantage of the unguarded.

_I wonder if anybody has sent me a text. _He reached into his bag and took out his mobile. _Nope, nothing. Not surprised._

He was just about to close down the OS and shove it back into his bag when a certain graphic caught his eye. Specifically, the tiny image of a swirling mass of sky blue energy surrounded by black space.

Aether.

The game he had received this morning, which he hadn't tried because he had been too busy.

_Well, I did promise I would try it out. _He checked the time. Still only ten minutes past twelve. He had loads of it. _Fuck it, I might as well do it now. Best get it out of the way so it doesn't lag me down for the rest of the day._

He booted it up.

**New Game**

Immediately, text appeared on screen, exactly as his friend had promised. A question.

**I come from the ground and clench to a pillar. What am I?**

_A tree? No, I haven't even seen one in real life. A Diglett? Those don't have any hands, and they don't even exist. Some really creepy stalker with magical tunnelling powers?_

He paused and let the weight of that sentence sink in.

_And suddenly I know absolutely nothing at all. _He groaned internally. _Screw this, this game blows. I'm out of here. _

He put the mobile back in his bag and stood up. Actual things were happening in other parts of the city, and despite the amount of strain ahead, he was looking forward to it.

Finally, some work that didn't involve selling life-threatening chemicals to people on the street.


	3. Messages

_split Three_In_One: [1, 2, 3, 4, 5]_

_ ()_

_print chapter 3_

One hour into the future, and Izanagi found himself knees down on the ground, a sponge in one paw and a plastic pail of soapy water in another. The precious job Rune Johanson had assigned him, for cash that didn't involve selling toxic chemicals, was basically to clean the bar by hand. A exhausting job, no doubt, and a tedious one at that.

Perhaps this was a form of sick revenge directed at his brief drug-dealing escapade in the past, despite the bouncer literally handing his ass to him afterwards. Then again, he couldn't say he didn't deserve that humiliating punishment.

He shrugged as he shoved his paw inside the plastic pail, coating it with foam and the artificial smell of pine lime. In all honesty, this experience could have been much worse. It wasn't like he was unfamiliar with the concept of housework. Mother Dolorosa ordered every kid back at the orphanage to chip in with the cleaning, once they grew to the age where they could wield a portable vacuum cleaner without falling over.

Even so, he could have lived without cleaning the toilets. The godawful smell emanating from their bowels had made him want to rip off his own nose and set it aflame. Before arriving, the young Dewott hadn't known lavatories had the potential to smell like Downtown Junkyard. But apparently they now did. Must be all the bootleg alcohol people were drinking these days.

"Excuse me, mister?"

This was the kind of voice that simultaneously brough out out two opinions within Izanagi: somewhat adorable yet as much fun as scraping his skin with the sharpened holes of a cheese grater. In other words, the same type of resonations emerging from his very own voice as a child.

He stopped scrubbing the plaster-lined wall and turned around. "Hey."

A Pachirisu, around six years of age, looked up at him with beady, black eyes. "Can I use the toilet?" the child asked, mumbling the words as he spoke.

Izanagi gaze back at the pale white monstrosity; the fiendish object which he had spent the last fifteen minute unclogging with a plunger, pinching his nose with the strength of a mighty titan as he did so. He then looked back at the child.

"Uh, sorry." He said, motioning to the rag in his paw, "Kinda busy here. Do you think you could come back in a few minutes?"

"But I really have to go!" the kid whined, "Like, right now."

Izanagi sighed. "Number one or number two?"

The Pachirisu frowned and scratched the back of his young head. "What do those words mean?"

Okay, so maybe children weren't familiar with adult slang. "Put it this way. Do you have to take a piss?"

The kid nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Alright, go," Izanagi said, motioning towards the ghastly urinal device. He shuddered to think the type of people who used it with such reckless abandon. This kind of shit would never fly back in the orphanage—both metaphorically and literally. "Just…try not to make a mess, okay?"

Without saying anything in reply, the Pachirisu hopped onto the toilet seat and sat down. Scrunching up his face, Izanagi returned to scrubbing the tiles. Rune had wanted the place 'spick-and-span', as she had told to his face, which was odd because no other bartender in Downtown ever paid so much attention to general hygiene. They would give the place a hoover and a quick scrub, but they certainly wouldn't store half a dozen bottles of military-grade detergent.

He tried his hardest not to think about the gentle 'tink-tink' emanating from the toilet bowl. People like himself were the reason toilet stalls were invented, he reasoned, applying soggy rag towards restroom wall as he did so. The mere sound of his fellow Pokemon urinating would never fail to send a shiver up his spine. Not fear, mind you. Just average discomfort.

"Hey, mister." The Pachirisu chirped, snapping Izanagi out of his oddly urinal-centric thoughts. "What's your name."

"Izanagi."

"Iza…na..gi?" The kid twisted his mouth, confused. "Whassit mean?"

"I have no idea." The eponymous Dewott muttered. "Tried looking it up on the Internet when I was old enough. Got no results."

"It sounds cool!" The kid smiled. "Like a badass thunder deity, or something. Maybe even a super powerful warrior, fighting off demons in hell!"

Izanagi couldn't help but snort at that. He had forgotten how enthusiastic little children could be. Before cruelty, hunger and reality slapped them across the face, and their round smiles ever so slowly curled downwards into the familiar grim slash.

Then again, this child belonged to a foster family. He had people who cared for him; two sisters, one old and one young. Perhaps he had seen happier times, unlike Izanagi, who often found himself skulking around alone in the orphanage. And better he enjoy his innocence how before taking his first tentative steps into the harsh world of today.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Harper." The kid replied. "It's sounds weird. What do you think it means?"

"Probably somebody who plays dubstep with a synthesizer," Izanagi replied absentmindedly, trying his hardest to remove a sickening hard, brown lump off a wall. Simultaneously, he wondered how Harper could see his name as 'cool'. It was as abnormal as names could get. "I don't know, really."

"Oh." Harper paused. "Izanagi, what do you do to make money?"

"Why do you want to know?" Izanagi asked.

"I just do."

"And I think you're way too young to be thinking about that."

"C'mon, tell me! Pleeeeease?" Izanagi couldn't help but roll his eyes. Damn kid was even doing that clichéd puppy-dog eye thing at him. A cliché that was a millennia year old and no longer worked, crushed under the oppressive smog and the rainfall of cynicism that drenched 99% of Downtown's population. It wasn't cute or effective, just plain annoying.

"Yeah, no," Izanagi stated, voice flat as a well-beaten coin. "It's not worth getting thrown into a dumpster full of broken glass and rusty tin cans."

"You're mean." Harper whined, which was undoubtedly the default response said by children when they couldn't get their way, "Fine. One day I'll find out. And then I'll truly be a man."

"Sure you will." The older Dewott muttered, barely noticing Harper hop off the toilet seat and exit the bathroom. God, this stain was taking forever to wipe off. The damn thing was practically a lump of diamond embedded onto a ceramic wall, or a mineral of near equivalent density. He wouldn't know. Never got to feel a real diamond before. It simply didn't lie inside his line or work. And nobody sane in Downtown would dare flash strings jewels in the street, unless they secretly possessed a mugging fetish.

Should he feel guilty for barely interacting with the kid? Nah, not really. It wasn't like he was going to spend the majority of his work days hanging around here. Every day, the crowds of Downtown passed through his sight like a toxic stream flowing into a purification plant. They would fade the day's recollections, disappearing into the abyss of his sleep. Harper was just another guy, honestly. Younger, but nonetheless somebody he couldn't afford to care about.

Ah, finally. The stain was coming off. Maybe he could cease jamming imaginary nails into his shins. Kneeling for almost half an hour did that to a person.

After giving the toilet a good flush to cleanse out Harper's piss, he emerged from the bathroom and into the main lounge of Rune's bar.

"Finished already?" The eponymous Lopunny said, quirking an eyebrow upwards. "Not bad. So, how was it?"

"Could've been worse." Izanagi said nonchalantly, lugging his borrowed equipment across to the other side of the room and depositing it in a locker. His voice contained no bravado. "You should try and take a dump in the Strega Fight Club something."

"Heh. Too right." Rune walked over and peeked into the bathroom. This coincidentally gave the young Dewott a nice view of her rear.

_Oh shit._

A view that he hastily looked away from, cursing his hormones at the same time. Rune possessed quite the voluptuous body, and Izanagi had long since understood why her bar was so popular.

But fuck it, he had his dignity. His peers, and Dolorosa, had taught him so. Spying on women was an act committed only by idiotic degenerates, presumably high on weed. Yeah, in the eyes of most Technogakure residents he was most likely scum, and he was well aware of it. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't respect his fellow Mon, gender notwithstanding.

"Well, it seems like you did a pretty good job. I'm impressed." Rune announced, looking back at him. "Didn't think drug dealers had the spine for hard work. Always thought they lounged around on the streets, stinking the place up. Guess you proved me wrong, kid."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Izanagi muttered, lookg down.

"And you should."

"So, what am I supposed to do now?" Izanagi asked, crossing his arms. "I already vacuumed the floor, mopped the kitchen and wiped every single table in this damn place." The latter task turned out better than expected. He only said that because Rune deliberately closed the bar for preparations. It meant he didn't have to talk to as many people. "The job can't be over, because you haven't paid me yet."

"Who says I'm not going to pay you now?" Rune said, stubbing out her cigarette in a nearby ashtray.

"…nobody gets paid this much for a few hours of housework. Unless their employer is brain-damaged, of course."

"True that." Rune said, "Yeah, you aren't paid until after the Strega party packs up and leaves. The thing is, now that you've pitched in with the cleaning, there isn't really anything for you to do at the moment. I was going to send you on a courier run with my bouncer, but after that last fiasco I don't think the two of you have the right chemistry."

"So what, do I just fuck around here for a few hours, doing absolutely nothing?"

"If you want. You'll resume work at 6 pm. I recommend getting some grub inside of you before then."

"Oh. Cool." Izanagi sighed, feeling some sort of burden lift from his shoulders. Free time, in the middle of the day no less. Usually he'd spend the morning and the afternoon roaming the pavement, torturing his feet, flogging his wares to anybody interested. At night, he would wander home, eat whatever flash meal pack happened to be available and collapse on the futon, exhausted. "Wait, are you seriously letting me stay here?"

"Actually, now that I think about it, I think my bouncer hates your guts." Rune admitted.

"No surprise." Izanagi snorted. There was one adjective he could describe the man with: unforgettable. It was difficult to use the antonym, what with the bulging muscles, scarred eye and a gun half the size of an average Mon's torso. "He tossed me into a dumpster and threatened to shoot my face full of plasma. Yeah, we definitely don't have the right chemistry."

"So the feeling is mutual. Have fun doing whatever it is you're going to do here, but don't make a racket." Rune smiled, and adjourned off to who-knows-where. Izanagi didn't give a crap. All he cared about was this table in front of him, and his plastic bag which would very soon double as a makeshift pillow.

Tired. He felt as if all his limbs had been replaced by lead bars. Thick, heavy extremely dense bars the size of sewer pipes. The poisonous quality of the mineral also held some metaphor. He had no idea which one. Undoubtedly, all that housework had taken a huge chunk of him. _Well, no shit. _The back of his mind growled. _You can't expect to spend hours on your knees, wiping down muck and feel completely refreshed afterwards. _

Said part of his brain then slapped him across the cheek.

He gently laid his head down on his bag, noting at its uncharacteristic emptiness. Normally, he would be standing on a street corner by now, fiddling with his weapon, mounds of boxes laid on the sidewalk. He hadn't fired his gun in days, and sincerely hoped he would never get the chance but the mere presence of the microfusion cell powered firearm was enough to convince most people to think twice.

Good thing too, because he was a terrible shot. Give him ten rounds plus a target twenty metres away, and he'd only hit it once.

_My gun. Why does that sound familiar? What was I supposed to do?_

His head might as well be made out of solid concrete. And then, out of some sheer divine will, he remembered.

_Oh yeah, I need to buy some more microfusion cells. I'm running out. I only have two left, right?_

But fuck it, he was so exhausted right now. He tried to get his legs to move, but to no-one's surprise they didn't obey his demands. He slumped further down on the table, groaning.

Perhaps he should close his eyes, and rest for a bit. Rune wouldn't mind. He had her permission. He wasn't going to be bothering anybody. And it wasn't like he was an intruder; he worked here for the time being.

Yeah…

He was going to take a little nap. Rest for a while, get his bearings, then move out later on.

It wouldn't take long at all…

XXX

…

…

…

_His eyelids opened. _

_Instantly he knew that this was not reality. Reality was a cruel and harsh mistress, devouring hope in her wide, fanged maw and spitting monotony on the serving plate of life. The whole of Technogakure was subject to her power, bowing before her eternal, iron-fisted reign._

_No, reality was never as brightly lit as this._

_He stood in his room. Why, he wondered? Wasn't he somewhere else just a minute ago? Had a minute even passed? Did this room actually belong to his apartment? An invisible haze had settled across his mind, and he couldn't decipher the questions passing through it._

_He turned and stared. Everyone was in place; the furniture, the lighting, his possessions. His battered laptop, rescued from a collapsing junk store at the age of fifteen. His cupboard stacked with meals, packets of dried soup and his meagre set of cutlery. A futon outstretched on the hard floor, one of the few comforts he had. _

_The scene should be normal. He saw it every single day. And yet, somehow, it wasn't. For one, he couldn't recall his room being this bright. To save money, he would set the lighting to the minimum. Now, the strip of fluorescent light above seemed to be working into overdrive, showering the room with its radiance. It wasn't just that, though. Izanagi could sense a certain quality emanating from the walls, washing him in a sense of eerie calmness._

_Organic? Was that the term to describe it?_

_He wouldn't, or rather couldn't, understand. When was the last time he had seen a sprightly blade of grass shooting up from cracks in the pavement, withstanding the harsh winds of the city? When had _anybody _from his generation seen anything remotely nature-related? If the folk tales to be believed, the ones Mother Dolorosa read aloud before sleepy-time, the goddess Shaymin was currently having a long and ardous lament._

_He walked over to the window, and placed his paw across the transparent surface. It was dark outside. Too dark. Thick, grey, heavy clouds obscured the view, stretching as far as the eye could see. They, like everything else with this scenario, appeared unusual. For one, they actually looked like they were loaded with real moisture, instead of pesticides, factory wastes and the like._

_It shouldn't happen. His apartment was on the third floor, nowhere near the skyline. Not to mention, the building itself didn't reach that level anyways._

_Without warning, he sunk against the wall, hugging himself tightly with both arms._

"_So empty…" he mumbled, not even sure why he was doing so. His lips moved without the thought passing through his head. "So cold…"_

"_So alone…"_

XXX

"ATTEN-SHUN!"

It was as if a steamroller had suddenly converted itself into sound waves, then slammed themselves directly into Izanagi's eardrum. His head shot upwards, shoved straight back into dizzying reality.

"Wha—"

"RISE AND SHINE, MAGGOT!" The voice screamed, threatening to defragment the sound barrier at any second. "ANY MORE SLEEPING ON THE JOB AND YOU'LL BE SCRUBBING THE TOILETS BY DAWN!"

Scrubbing the toilets? Didn't he just do that…?

He blinked twice, rubbed his eyes and oh god it was something straight out of a nightmare.

"AWAKE, PRIVATE? GOOD! DROP AND GIVE ME FIFTY, RIGHT HERE AND RIGHT NOW! FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN AN IMMEDIATE AND DIRECT TRANSFER...OF YOUR ASS TOWARDS MY FOOT!"

Fuck fuck fuck _shit._

Ricky. Rune's Bouncer. A big, burly Raichu, scarred across his left eye, holding a tri-beamed plasman rifle. Izanagi hadn't seen the muscle-bound Mon in nearly two years. Yet the situation was almost exactly the same; Ricky holding the butt of the rifle under Izanagi's chin, the former with an extremely aggravated expression, the latter shaking and about to piss himself.

_I'm dead. I am so fucking dead._

"Oh god." Izanagi choked, as he visualized a shocker charge ejecting out of the barrel and mezzing his head into neon green goo. This was so surreal and terrifying and he almost imagined his life flashing before his black eyes. "I'm sorry."

"DO NOT LOOK AT ME, I DID NOT ASK YOU A QUESTION!" Ricky screamed, lifting the rifle and jabbing it against the young Dewott's chest. The strength behind the blow sent the poor Dewott crashing to the ground, along with the chair. "YOU ARE ALREADY IN HUGE SHIT FROM THAT PREVIOUS COURT MARTIAL! NOW PRIVATE, GET OFF YOUR LAZY ASS AND DROP TO THE FLOOR!"

This _really _was a nightmare.

"Okay, okay, oooookay." Izanagi, who had curled up into a ball, had never been so glad to hear Rune's firm voice. "That's enough, Ricky. You're gonna traumatize the poor kid. Put that peashooter away while you're at it, okay?"

"Ma'am, my firearm is not a standard Downtown pistol cobbled together from scrap parts and leaking batteries, it's a T-525 Matter Disintegrator that I shelled out a lot of dosh for."

"I don't care…" Rune scowled, walking forward and jabbing Ricky on the chest. She wrenched the gun out of the bouncer's paws and slammed it on the table. Izanagi's eyes widened. "What the hell made you want to hurl furious army talk at a sleeping kid? I know he tried to sell drugs here before, that's all toxic sludge under the sewer bridge. You already punished him, dammit!"

"It was just a joke." Ricky said, raising his arms in defense. "I didn't mean to harm him, I swear."

Rune's glare could have reduced the plasma rifle into nothing more than a pile of lead and steel. And yet Ricky didn't budge an inch. "Maybe you fooled around with your colleagues back in the army, but this is a fifteen year old child we're talking about here! Even if he is a Downtown orphan, that doesn't mean he's as hard as you are."

_Actually, I'm sixteen. _Said the part of Izanagi's brain that wasn't currently freaking the fuck out. That was to say, less than ten per cent of it.

"Alright alright Rune, calm your furry tits. I'll apologize to him. Ricky stared down at the young Dewott with what was probably intended as a bashful grin. In reality, it was more of an annoyed grimace. "Sorry I roared wind at you, kid. Meant it as a joke. Don't think you took it quite well."

"That." Izanagi gasped, "Was a joke?"

"Affirmative, private." Ricky said.

"It was fucking terrifying, that's what it was." The young Dewott growled. "Do you realize you scared the shit out of me, the last time I came to this bar? When you woke me up with that plasma rifle, I thought I had been catapulted into the worst dream of my life. What were you thinking?"

"Hey, I apologized, didn't I?"

"You know what? Screw this. Screw this job, all that cleaning, I'm quit." Izanagi said, rolling to his feet and grabbing his bag, "See you both."

"You're quitting?" Rune cried, eyes wide, "But we need you!"

Izanagi whirled around and fixed her with a steely stare, teeth clenched, eyes almost bugging out of their sockets; the whole lot. "And I don't." he growled.

"Now listen here, cadet." Ricky frowned, motioning towards Izanagi, "I know I scared you with that little escapade, but that's no reason to bail out on us. Do you ever understand the meaning of—"

But Izanagi had long since disappeared from the bar, leaving behind nothing other than the overturned chair to signify his presence.

"Dammit, kiddo…"

XXX

The time was 5 in the afternoon. Izanagi only found this out after he had raced down the entirety of Morra Parade and turned in the direction of the battered Downtown Church. The electronic shriek of the church bell rang through the air, signalling the dawn of a new hour. Now, the eternal smog began to cover the sun, splashing the skyline in olive green. Give or take a few hours and the streets would be crawling with hoodlums, more so than they already were.

He felt awful. Sure, Ricky had scared the everloving crap out of him, but that was no reason to snap at Rune, then bounce. He didn't even get paid, for god's sake. All that hard work, completely down the sewer hole.

_There is nothing worse than knowing that your day has been wasted._

He sighed as he clutched his stomach. The organ rumbled, demanding edibles to be shoved down into bulging sac. Today had not been a good day. It would certainly set him back. Guess he needed to work thrice as hard tomorrow.

Luckily, there was always a food vendor hanging around the church. The congregation usually enjoyed a bite and a drink after a lengthy sermon. Izanagi, like many of Downtown's residents, had observed that term being a somewhat disingenuous one. It was hard to identify the nutters who actually believed in the god Arceus, as opposed to the layabouts who only hung around the church for its central heating system.

He purchased a _Yakisoba-pan, _a hot dog bun stuffed with fried noodles and processed meat, and immediately tore into it, relishing the trickle of the melted margarine and soft crust of the white bread. Next up was a pink can of creamy soda, the former adjective being an utter lie. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was. Apparently fear sucked all the moisture out of your lips.

He found a spot on the church steps, worn and dented by time, and sat down, watching the hazy image of the sun descend towards the horizon. People were milling around him, their voices blending into a opaque mass of static. Afternoon service had just ended. This meant that the church would close for the day, and everyone expect the priests and the workers would be kicked out. Bully for the homeless, he guessed.

"And lo, the divine creator sees fit to end the day in peace!"

A shrill, squeaky voice, piercing past the noise of the crowd, caught Izanagi's ear, and he looked behind him. Standing between the gates of the church was a Drifloon—already a rare sight in modern society—blaring through a megaphone clenched in one tendril. The man, or woman; Izanagi had never really bothered to check, lived in the church, driving away evil spirits through exorcism. At least, that was what an Internet friend had told him. It all reeked of someone being cracked too hard on the head as a kid.

Wait, did Drifloons actually have children? Could they lay eggs? Whatever. Biology didn't interest him. And how could it? The only 'education' most Downtown orphans received was basic reading and writing. The rest was fair game.

"Now, as his subjects, we must ensure that this world is fit for the next stage of its evolution. Let us unite, in harmony with the power of Arceus and Giratina, and we shall return to the Chosen Land!"

The Drifloon's name was Daryl. Again, another fact given to him by an Internet friend. That was a male name. But, in history, there had been numerous examples of men being given female names; the most prominent of which was a Grovyle named Gaia. So much for that.

It was at this point that Izanagi noticed the Drifloon gently levitating down the steps, towards his direction.

_Maybe if I don't pay any attention to him, he won't talk to me. _He chewed a mouthful of yakisoba, before washing it down with the soda. _I just want to eat this in peace._

"You there, young soul. Would you like to learn more about the Chosen Land and its enlightened denizens?"

Fuck dammit never mind.

"No." he said. "I would not like to learn about this Chosen Land, nor its enlightened people."

"Why not?" Daryl the Drifloon questioned, sounding genuinely concerned, as if Izanagi had just uttered an urge to inject himself with the deadly Hepatitis F. "By believing in Arceus, you'll live life with gratitude and hope…isn't it wonderful? Just have faith in the Almighty Creator, and everything shall go well."

"And yet I somehow don't trust any of that. I guess it's because never had faith in any religion in the first place." Izanagi replied, taking another swig from the pink can. "It's all a lot of rubbish to me."

He expected the Daryl to yell at him, get offended and the like. Not engage in violence, it was far too crowded for that. Reality proved him wrong.

"Well, that's okay then. The Almighty Creator sees all, including the ignorant, as his children. As long as you live your life as the best person you can be, you too shall ascend to the skies above."

Izanagi stared, and scowled at him. "Did you just call me ignorant?"

"We did." Daryl smiled, or at least Izanagi thought he did. It was hard to tell when the dude had a yellow cross for a face. For all he knew, Daryl could be giving them the saddest frown in the world. "Have a nice day!"

And with a wink, the Drifloon floated off into the distance, leaving a rather confused and irritated Dewott drug dealer behind.

XXX

It was time to head home.

The streets were deserted, and the veil of dusk hung above the city, like a looming vampire about to pierce its victims. The sun always rose late and descended early. It made things very inconvenient for the young Dewott.

Izanagi walked briskly down the road, staying under the streetlights. The ones that worked and weren't bashed to shards by sociopathic vandals. The trick was to put on a façade of confidence. Tiptoeing slowly left you wide open to ambush. Running meant insecurity and you would often get shot in the back by a shocker charge. Treading the fine line sounded difficult, but the young Dewott had years of experience to go off from.

So today had been absolutely horrible. It had started well enough, with the prospect of cash that didn't come criminal activities, but then his own stupid emotions had to take over and ruin the entire thing for him. Izanagi had never been an overly vicious person, like a certain Mienfoo he knew, but his upbringing made him cynical and slightly bitter about reality. And sometimes that nature of his transformed into anger and exploded out into the open world. Perhaps that what he got for bottling up his emotions and hardly ever communicating with his peers.

His phone suddenly buzzed. He kept it on vibration mode at night. A ringtone was more or less the sound equivalent of a firework bursting into the night sky, displaying the message 'PLEASE STAB ME' in rainbow psychedelic lights.

_What the hell? It's that Aether game. _

Blue background littered with pure white clouds, standard menu with three buttons, lack of holograms…it was Aether, alright. No chiptune music, though. Vibration mode automatically brought any voltage towards the phone speakers to a screeching halt.

And then, without warning, the screen flashed white and text scrolled across it.

**I come from the ground and clench to a pillar. What am I?**

_It's that same damn riddle. _He sighed and rolled his eyes. This was such a nice way to end the day. Putting up with a glitching game that he didn't even want to play. First things tomorrow morning, he was erasing this shit. _I don't have time for this bullshit. Exit._

He tapped the screen, fully wanting the game to fade away and be replaced with the oh-so-familiar home menu.

Nothing happened.

**I come from the ground and clench to a pillar. What am I?**

The game wasn't letting him exit.

**I come from the ground and clench to a pillar. What am I?**

How was this any possible? What sort of developer would even code an application like this?

**I come from the ground and clench to a pillar. What am I?**

_Oh dammit, just me leave this fucking game! _He shouted in his head, rapidly slamming his right paw onto the screen. _Hurry up already._

A pause.

And then the screen flashed black, before it was flooded with white.

**Updating…**

**Updating…**

**Update complete.**

**Aether Mark II**

**The True Trial of the World Beyond**

The riddle had disappeared, and a whole new sentence had taken its place.

"**From the void I once emerged, and into the void I shall now descend. My name is existence."**

_What…what is this? _Izanagi whispered, _Aether Mark 2? _

That's when everything went to hell in a hand basket.

The world froze. All motion stopped. The colors faded from his surroundings, dull greys and pitch blacks replacing the light shining down from the lamppost, overwriting the cobalt covering his hands and body. The clouds in the sky had been caught, as if in a freeze frame. It was as if the entire world had been forced into a state of monochrome paralysis.

Only one thing stood out amongst the darkness. The game. Aether Mark II, a shining blue patch in the midst of black surrounding the young Dewott.

He stared, transfixed at the screen. More text appeared.

**Connection initializing…**

Izanagi tried to move, to run, to drop the phone and get the hell out of this nightmare; to hide in his futon like a terrified child and never ever ever leave its safety again. Nothing. He tried to cry out for help. His vocal cords were frozen.

Something grabbed him. Slimy, repulsive, torrid. A pool of purple-black energy had formed around his feet, and from it numerous hands emerged, wrapping around his legs, torso, everything.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to resist the tentacle-like limbs, to prevent himself from being dragged down into the void, towards god-knows-where. But nothing came out. He was forced to see through paralyzed vision; to suffer his demise knowing that there was _absolutely nothing _he could do about it.

The hands wrapped around his legs, clenched hold of his torso, curled around his neck and with an almighty tug, pulled him straight down into emptiness

He descended into the void, silent and invisible.

The darkness faded from the city, reviving it to its sickening state, and the night of Downtown resumed.

There was no indication that a young Dewott, sixteen years old and a drug dealer, had ever existed there.

**Parsing sever info…**

**Retrieving server info…**

**Sending client data…**


	4. The Dark Descent

_**Weeks in the past, definitely not many…**_

"_So, uh, shall we begin?" The first Pokemon, a timid Eevee, pressings his paws together mumbled._

"_If you insist." The second Pokemon, a Dewott with a bag of contraband on his back, deadpanned._

_Izanagi seriously had no idea why he was here. After he had finished his lunch on the steps of the Downtown Church of Arceus and had begun to fiddle around with the settings on his phone, the head priest had come up, chatted to him for a while and invited him inside. The entire time, the elderly Alakazam—Miss Magdalene her name was—talked on and on about faith, devotion to the inner spirit, and how religion, rosaries and drinking water from sacred cups would improve his life. Izanagi didn't outright abhor or mock religion—even he had limits to his scepticism, unlike some people he knew—but nevertheless wondered why he was even here._

_He already identified himself as agnostic. The teachings of the Church of Arceus, and by extension the Cult of Giratina, had never made much sense to him. What was the point of worshipping or following a being that possessed no evidence for its existence? Salvation only came to those who sought it out. If he truly wanted to repent for his sins and follow down the path of penance, then he would gladly do so alone, and not because an imaginary deity gave him permission to do so._

_Even so, he thought, as he had listened to Magdalene's calm, graceful speech and stepped past rows of pews, he couldn't help but feel a little bit jealous. The aging lady appeared to be so composed, so compassionate. It was surprising, given the sheer amount of dread and disaster that appeared on the news these days. Sex murders, gang violence, petty theft and widespread disease. And yet, the priest never seemed to be the least bit fazed._

_Then again, as he had explained earlier, all he wanted was to survive. Surely Miss Magdalene had cupboards of rations tucked away at the back of the church, bought with donation money. Izanagi wasn't so lucky. He had to sell drugs every day, otherwise he might find himself sleeping hungry._

"_I have a young disciple with me today," Magdalene had introduced, standing next to the church altar. Above it was a stained glass window depicting a large, gray equine—the image of the Almighty Creator himself, "He is an aspiring scholar, as well as a novice fortune teller. Young Dewott, will you let him read your fortune?"_

_Izanagi blinked. "With those tarot cards?" Zero to twenty-two, along with the unorthodox five. Kids had played games with decks back at the orphanage. He hadn't been one of them. "Why?"_

"_It is a central part of our religion." Magdalene replied, "He has already read the fortune of all other members in our church. My disciple is quite eager to try his luck on outsiders."_

"_Couldn't you choose someone else?"_

"_Oh?" Magdalene raised a graying eyebrow, "Are you implying that you are busy today?"_

_One thing led to another, and Izanagi found himself sitting at the back of the church, watching an Eevee spread blue cards on the enamel floor. The priest was surprisingly charimastic. Perhaps that how she managed to keep her church running, despite being firmly deep in Technogakure's slums._

_She had given the two of them mugs of sim-coffee. That was nice. _

_The Eevee's name was Edgar. Izanagi swore he had seen the guy before. It was hard to tell. The faces and voices of Downtown's residents tended to blur together, until he couldn't discern one from another. He only really bothered keeping track of people he knew from the past._

"_Okay, I'll s-start now." Edgar stuttered. How long had this guy been living here? The streets looked like they would shred him in milliseconds, Izanagi thought, "First, I'll, uh, shuffle the deck."_

"_Take your time." Izanagi said in a monotone, wishing anything but. Magdalene had politely asked him to be courteous, and Izanagi had this sense in his gut that getting on the aging priest's bad side would be a very, very stupid idea._

_The session had begun._

"_First up, The Fool." Edger said, drawing the card depicting the young boy and the dog from the top of the twenty-six card dex, "Um, innocence, madness, inspiration, chaos and creativity. So I guess you're about to go on a long journey soon?"_

_Where am I supposed to travel here? Izanagi thought, Dive into the sewers and living amongst the underground?_

"_The Wheel of Fortune." Edgar placed the second card next to the first. He furrowed his brow and stared. "What goes up will come down. Not entirely sure what this means just yet," he mumbled, "Need to take a look at the other cards first…"_

_Izanagi watched him draw again. This one had the picture of lighting striking a large building._

"_The Tower. A symbol of shocking realizations and disaster."_

_Outside the church, the smog hung thick in the air, choking and poisonous._

"_The Devil."_

_Two cards left. As the priest had explained earlier, only six cards were used in tarot readings._

"_The Death."_

_Yeah, this really didn't sound good. And stupid, Izanagi muttered internally, as he rolled his eyes; unaware that the Death Arcana was primarily a symbol for metamorphosis, cycles and regeneration._

"_And finally..." Edgar drew the ultimate card from the deck and glanced at it. His pupils widened at it._

"…_The World."_

_XXX_

Izanagi woke. His head hurt. His legs felt numb.

He gasped, and his tongue rattled in his mouth, sending saliva flying everywhere. It was not an unfamiliar sensation for him. As a child, he had been jolted from his sleep countless of times, from rampaging orphans, the omnipresent noise of the city and even from Mother Dolorosa herself. Every time, he would momentarily relax, before crawling out of his bunk and heading down towards the kitchens.

But this time, his pounding heart realized that the situation had gone horribly, terribly _wrong. _

As any ordinary denizen of Downtown, smog had blanketed his entire world. He had breathed in its toxic fumes and gazed at the multi-coloured streaks it painted across the skies during sunrise and sunset. Green was pesticides. Blood red meant it was time to wear a gas mask.

As for the skyline above him, if he could call it that? The twisting dark clouds, grey and foreboding, cooling the air to a level far below the any Technogakure winter?

No. He could not comprehend it. But it planted a seed of fear inside his stomach, a dreadful feeling that he had never experienced before.

It was that point his brain registered the circumstances his body was in.

_Where am I?_

He was lying flat on his back, on a material that appeared to be a slab of hard stone. That alone set a siren warbling through his head. The last time he had laid down on a sidewalk, he had been thirteen and ambushed by a pack of street thugs. His brain would've been plastered across the tarmac if a friend hadn't come along and shot his assailants with a laser pistol.

His primal instincts kicked in.

_Get out of here!_

_Run!_

_Escape!_

He tried to bolt upright. In his mind, he lifted himself off the slab, jumped off and ran for the metaphorical hills. Reality proved otherwise. His limbs strained against cold metal, causing him him to grunt out in pain a second later. He turned his head to the side, and his eyes widened.

A pair of sturdy iron braces were clamped to his wrists, attached to the slab with a thick, heavy steel chain. He glanced down, past his torso. His legs were equally bound.

He was trapped. His arms and legs remained in place, unable to move. Whoever had bound him here had been done so in a very intricate and detailed manner. His limbs could have just as easily been frozen in ice for all the good it did him. The only parts of his body he could

_Oh god._

_Oh god oh man oh god oh man oh god…_

Images flashed through his eyes. As a child, he had heard horror stories from his older friends, about eerie chemical plants and scientific experiments, inflicted on criminals unlucky to be captured by the Technogakure police force. Frightening aesops and parables of the private corporations of the city, mistreating and destroying the bodies of orphans and the homeless, in the corrupted name of scientific progress. Tales of unfortunate dealers dunked in chemical vats, the toxins soaking through their skin and destroying their internal organs; of shrieking teenagers tied down to an operating table, then gagged and forced to stare as a hypo pierced their body, injecting a stream of experimental liquid into their skin…

"Awake, are you?"

A mysterious voice snapped him out of his terror. Or rather, it planted some focus in his increasingly frantic mind. His breathing managed to calm, slightly.

"You rose earlier than expected. In fact, most never wake up at all. It seems I have finally chosen the right specimen…"

It was dark, everywhere. Yet, through the gloom, Izanagi could clearly see a Pokemon peering over a wooden table. The Pokemon, or rather the woman, judging by the tone of the smooth voice, was humanoid in shape, three spikes jutting off her head and a long ribbon-like extension hanging down from the back. She was humming as she hovered a few feet above the ground, singing a jaunty tune that sent shivers down Izanagi's spine.

She looked like a discarded doll, given life by some accursed hexing ritual.

Izanagi had never seen a Pokemon like her before, but every part of his body was screaming at him to run. This woman was an omen for disaster; he could sense it.

"_Conquest, war, famine and death…sick souls and broken hearts, followed by hollow growth and sinful karma …it seems, dear ancestors, that all your hard work has gone to waste."_

A slow, grinding sound emanated through the nightmarish space. The woman was crushing something into a fine powder. Izanagi noticed trays of minerals on the wooden tabletop, items that one would logically find in the science section of a Technogakure secondary school. This was getting more and more surreal by the moment.

"_The Pokemon world has truly fallen into the grasp of the apocalypse. They have long since severed their natural roots, albeit unwillingly. But…" _It was at this point the mysterious woman turned around to face him and _oh FUCKING HELL._

The first thing he noticed that the woman's mouth wasn't so much an actual organ primarily used for the reception of edible objects, but rather a rusted zipped seen on the backs of traditional dolls, stained with what Izanagi noted with horror appeared to be dried blood. Strings bound the top and button lip together, stitching the woman's expression into a permanent, maniacal smile.

And that wasn't the worst part.

Izanagi hadn't given the subject much through before this, but he knew that if you wanted to see, you needed at least one functioning eyeball. Apparently this was no longer the case, because his assailant possessed none of those things. Instead, two empty sockets stared back at him. They were leaking blood, streaking down her face in a river of crimson.

"…_maybe this young fellow will be able to revitalize his species, bringing hope and power to the masses. Or will he descend into the abyss like his peers, inert and unmoving until the end of his life?" _The woman's grin, if that were possible, grew larger, the needlework straining as her mouth moved. From the table, she picked up a beaker full of liquid and poured the crushed minerals into it. The liquid, once clear, instantly turned a deep blue.

"Who…who are you?" Izanagi rasped, finding his voice after so long. "Where am I?"

"_Me? Hmmm…I suppose you could call me your salvation." _The woman said, never turning her back to the table. She picked up a long object and placed the end into the beaker. For a while, the only sound in the empty space was the gentle tink-tink of a glass striking other glass.

"_It pleases me to inform you that you will soon receive a powerful gift. Poor child, it seems that my master has taken quite a liking towards you…"_

"Wait, what's going on?" Izanagi cried, straining against his manacles. No use. The steel held as tight as ever. "What are you going to do to me? Let me go!"

"_You are about to enter a world far beyond your current understanding. It is harsh, extremely harsh. As you are now, you will not be able to survive."_

"New world? What the hell are you talking about?" Izanagi said, panting deeply. His face was twisted in a scowl, and his fear had been replaced by sheer frustration. He had always tended to lean towards anger than terror. "None of this is making sense!"

The woman held the beaker into the air and gently poured the liquid into what appeared to be the body of a syringe. A syringe with an insanely long, silver needle, and was sealed tight with the mystical blue liquid inside, glowing with an ethereal aura.

She smiled.

"_So to remedy this, I will grant you a gift. It will unlock the true potential inside of you; power that has been remained dormant for most of your life. You should feel honoured. Very few are given this privilege."_

"A gift…" Izanagi gasped, his eyes practically bugging out of his sockets. Sweat trickled down his forehead, as the thin needle took up his vision. "It's in that needle, isn't it?" _Don't come closer. Don't come closer. Don'tcomecloserdon'tcomecloser…_

"_Correct. Now, please hold still. You must comply if the procedure is to go smoothly."_

"You're…you're going to stab me with that thing?" Izanagi gasped, as if saying so would instantly negate his fate.

"_Indeed. Shall we begin?"_

…

"NO! FUCK NO!"

It was as a stick of industrial-grade explosive had detonated inside of Izanagi's mouth. He was not a guy who swore often—although that didn't mean he didn't swear at all. Mother Dolorosa had seen fit to curb that behaviour in the orphanage. But the situation, as it stood, was simply unbelievable. He was in an unknown location. He didn't want this gift. He didn't want to the stabbed with a syringe, and have the ethereal liquid injected into his bloodstream. He had no idea what it would do, but it was probably terrible, and he definitely didn't want to be on the receiving end of it.

A sense of terrified rage erupted within Izanagi. He screeched and he flailed, he kicked and he howled, his strength appeared to multiply tenfold as he tried to break out of his restraints, his entire body fighting against this ghastly woman and everything she stood for.

"No. No. No no no!" he screamed, repeated the word again and again, as if it would get him out of this mess. "Get away from me! I won't let you change me!"

The woman's smile faded for a little, before she let out a harsh bark of laughter and raised her right arm up in the air. Then shadowy aura gathered around it, and she slammed it down on Izanagi's chest,

Things broke. And they weren't the woman's finger bones.

A torrent of blood spurted out of Izanagi's mouth like a waterfall, splashing on his cobalt cheeks and trickling down his neck. And then the agony crashed into him, with all the subtlety and grace of a nuclear reactor exploding.

_My ribs! _He shrieked, or rather he would have, if he weren't busy moaning from the pain. Tears gathered in his eyes. _She's broken my ribs!_

"_Be still, child!" _The woman cackled, _"This suffering is nothing compared to what you will face in the future! Now, cease your frantic panicking, and receive the gift from the void beyond!"_

"Ugh…gagh…" The young Dewott could only lie there, groaning as his body screamed, howled and roared from the pain from his smashed torso. This was impossible, he dazedly thought, watching the world through blurry eyes. How could someone break the bones in his body with one strike? This couldn't be real. It had to be a nightmare.

But if it was a nightmare, then it was the most frightening one he ever had.

He noticed the woman lowering the syringe towards the vein in his left arm, and some of the color fell back in his eyes.

"Go…away…" he rasped, coughing up more drops of blood.

"_Interesting. Strength in the face of despair." _The woman giggled again, _"Let's see how far it takes you."_

And with a single swipe, she stabbed the needle into the bloodstream and injected the ethereal liquid inside.

Nothing happened. For a moment, anyway. Then, Izanagi's body began to tremble. His vision blurred. And that tremble soon transformed into full-out nerve spasms as twisted, cobalt markings formed on his arms and spread up to his body and head.

The young Dewott screamed. It wasn't the healthy cry of a newborn baby, nor the howl of pain caused by a single laser shot to the kneecap. It was ungodly, eldritch and non-existent in the world that he knew. It was the scream of someone who had discovered a new version of hell.

His body moved on his own, pulling at his restraints, tearing at them, sending sharps cracks through the hard steel. Blood, not the normal red but black, pooled out of his eyes, his pores, ears and nose, obscuring his vision until the only thing he could register through the spasms was the cruel smile of his assailant, silently grinning as she watched his body die again and again from both the inside and the outside.

_It hurts! It hurts! Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithuuuurrs!_

Take being inflicted with third-degree burns, mix in dirty, broken glass shredding your underbelly, drop in a few magnitudes of dissolving slowly in a vat full of hyper-concentrated sulphuric acid and multiply by the factor of getting electrocuted from ten different directions at once. Finally, raise it to the power of having over hundred cuts spread throughout your body, blood leaking like a dam, with a pile of industrial-grade salt rubbed on every single one of them.

If dying piece by piece, accelerated to mach speed, felt like anything, then it would be this.

Izanagi was crying harder now. Salty tears mixed with the black blood, leaking into his mouth, dripping across his fur, running down his nose. He vomited, sending a deluge of bile and stomach acid everywhere. Dimly, he tried to raise his hands, but he couldn't. He couldn't do anything. He was forced to lie there, at the mercy of his own body.

He barely realized that in his pain, he had bitten off his own tongue.

_Great. Now mute as well as blind. _Said the miniscule part of his brain that still was capable of rational thought.

He was convulsing, still shaking, his nails digging into whatever they could. Every sphincter in his body had opened wide in horror, but he was too preoccupied to notice. His lungs had stopped working. He was dying. The markings, and the pain, were spreading down the rest of his body, curling around his legs and toes. He screeched and willed himself to die, to fall asleep, to end this, but it wouldn't and it didn't happen. He was awake, and he was aware. Arceus, was he ever aware!

_Mother!_

It was a word he had not thought for a long time, not since he had been an Oshawott toddler. It did not refer to Mother Dolorosa, but someone unknown, unnamed. A person he had never met and never would, yet inwardly craved the warmth of. And now he was using it as a mantra, to distance himself from the pain. _Mother! Mother! Mother!_

The blue markings had covered his entire body now, lighting it up with cobalt. His strength was flowing away from him. His soul was disappearing into the void. Everything was degrading, disintegrating, disappearing. He could rest, and he knew this with a sense of hollow elation, as he gave a last breath of air, that shuddered through his broken chest.

He didn't know at what point he lost unconsciousness. Only that he had gone from the shadowy plane, and that it had gone from him. He flowed out his young body, leaving behind an empty husk that twitched, writhed, gurgled and ultimately…

…transformed.

Silence.

Finally, after wave and wave of fresh agony, it was over.

The puppet woman stared down at the motionless form of the Dewott, her expression unreadable for the first time today.

"_It appears that this experiment was a success. I should report this. They will want to know the extent of his potential…"_

Her stitched lips twitched upwards, and she gently laid a hand on the Dewott's ice-cold forehead. He was in his nightmares, separated from reality.

"_Sleep well, child. Your trial begins now. We have put a lot of faith in you, so do not disappoint us…"_

It would be a long time before Izanagi awoke. But that was okay. He had all the time in the world, in this new existence of his…

**ACT 1: THE BECKOINING OF THE VOID**

_He was falling. He couldn't see anything but the haunting shadows, or feel anything apart from the piercing winds rushing past his ears. The sun lay above him, hidden by the image of the moon—an eclipse. It bathed him in its light, piercing through the darkness and burning his fur._

"_**Welcome….welcome…to the w-w-world…of…P-P-POKEMON!"**_

_Shadows reached out from the edges of the world coiled around him, and yanked him down into the darkness._

"_**Beyond THIS GATEWAY, many fresh…and n-n-nEW ExPeRiEnCeS a-a-wa-it your arrival-l-l-l…"**_

_His mind was pulsing, burning. Images began to flash before him, dragged from beyond the sea of soul. Memories, many of which he had long forgotten._

_His child self. Mother Dolorosa. His small amount of friends, most of which he had lost contact with. Eating breakfast in the orphanages. Watching the older boys do business in secret. Learning how to fire a laser pistol. Selling drugs on the street for the first time._

"_**BeFORe YoU DEPART FOR ADVENTURE, you must first answer some QUESTIONS!"**_

_More images appeared before him. They were clearer now, of events that had occurred in his life. Good and bad, real or imaginary, emotions that he had tried to forget…or dwelled on until they had merged with his true self. Anger, happiness, apathy, sadness…they swirled around him, and he felt like he could reach out to them, and absorb them into his soul. He had always tried to follow his own path, as his orphanage mates had told him, but had that actually worked? Did the answer matter, in the end?_

"_**N-N-ow, a-a-arrrreee y-youuu READY?" **_

_He was reaching the bottom of the abyss. He knew it. The ground was rushing up to him, ready for a hard landing._

"_**T-t-tHEN LeT the Quesssstions B-begin!"**_

_He fell faster, away from reality, into the deep unknown. _

"_**G-G-Good Luuuuc-c-c-k!"**_

XXX

"Aaaaagh!"

Izanagi awoke for the second time that day. Screaming, he clawed at his arm where the psychopathic woman had jabbed a needle into it.

"Go away! Go away! Go the hell away!"

His flailing, fuelled by his terror, caused him to roll off the steel cot and fall thrashing onto a hard stone floor, sending a dull ache up his torso.

He remembered everything. Hands rising up from the shadows, dragging him downwards. The stitched mouth. The blood leaking from the eye sockets. The incredible pain, the harsh cackle of his assailant, the way he had been shackled to the operating table, straining against the steel manacles in his panic…

He had bitten his own tongue off and cried black tears as well, as the liquid inside the syringe had worked its magic, so he screamed and howled out sheer horror from his own memories.

It was only then that he realized that one could not scream if his tongue had been bitten in half.

_Huh?_

He stuck his tongue out and tried to look at it, but his beady black nose was in the way, so he settled for touching it with his paw.

Yes, it definitely was still there.

_A…nightmare…_he thought, slumping against a hard rock wall, _A…damn…nightmare…so unreal…_

"Ahaha…ahaha…"

He tentatively brought a paw up to his face, covering his left eye, and lifted it off. Nothing covered it. No black blood, no tears, no liquid or moisture of any kind.

"It's gone…" he whispered, "I can see now…"

He could see.

Everything was fine. No pain, no blindess, nothing was wrong with him.

Without warning, a smile appeared on his face. A nervous giggle escaped from his mouth, which transformed into a chuckle and eventually reached its climax as a full-blow laugh. He hadn't laughed this hard in ages. But he was so damn relieved, that the nightmare was over and non-existent, that he simply couldn't help himself.

_Oh man, I can't wait to tell everyone about this. _He thought, gleefully. He could imagine himself right now, sitting in his apartment with the chat client open on his laptop. Better maintain a façade of calmness as always and avoid enthusiastically typing in all caps; otherwise people would think something was up.

He climbed himself off the smooth ground and dusted himself off, making extra careful that the shells attached to his knees weren't hurt (for what purpose they served, he never knew) and made his way towards the steel door on the other side of the room—

…hang on.

Izanagi stopped in his tracks. His smile faded.

_Where the hell am I? _He muttered to himself, blinking through the gloom.

The whiplash in his mood was so forceful that it could have broken his neck. His smile dimmed, disappeared and turned into a look of fright. Something heavy and imposing dropped in his stomach.

_Shit._

It was then he realized that he might be not yet be out of the proverbial woods at that moment. Or to use a more modern term, out of the proverbial scrap heap in the wastelands surrounding the exterior of the city. Either way, the situation wasn't good.

He looked around.

A steel cot, attached to the wall. Chains hung loose from the wall behind him, manacles attached to the end. The young Dewott saw an array of vertical steel bars in his vision, sealing him off from a corridor. A bar was fitted into the metal mesh.

_Am I in the South Downtown Train Station? _He wondered, as he recalled the underground network of tunnels and magnetic tracks, stretching like spider webs beneath the city. He had descended down its stairs many times, selling his wares to gang members and haggling with the Chimchar girl over microfusion cells for his gun. It was a hotspot for drugs, or at least it was until some Houndoom gang leader had taken it over, and evicted anyone affiliated with drug dealing away from it. A major of source of his revenue had gone down the plughole, just like that.

No, he reasoned. Despite being underground, the train station was always well-lit by burning oil drums, and the air down there was tinged with the scent of pollution, just like the air on the surface. He had walked along the metal tracks, going as far as to reach the old blockade. Years ago, a riot had taken place, where the last generation of Strega had squared off against the Technogakure police. It had ended in a stalemate, with lives lost on both sides, but the cops managed to get the last laugh. They sealed off the railway line with a wall of reinforced titanium, cutting off the underground of Downtown with the underground of Technnogakure.

Over time, the station had thrived into a gang hideout, with Pokemon eating and sleeping on its barren platforms. Some even rented out those aging bullet train carriages as living space.

This place, whatever it was, was not anywhere he knew, and most definitely not a train station. For one, they didn't have holding cells, and possessed electrical lights instead of medieval torches pinned to the wall.

"Hello!" he called out, half-expected someone to answer back. It proved to be fruitless. He walked over to the metal bars and gripped one of them, the cold touch shivering up his paw.

"Is anyone there?"

No response. No mutter, no cheerful cry, nothing expect the sound of his own breathing. Izanagi let go of the bar and stepped backwards, panic rising inside his mind.

_I'm alone. There's no-one here._

He grabbed the metal door and rattled it. "Hey! Is anybody here? Let me out!" A brass lock clanged on the metal. It struck the backside of Izanagi's left paw and he yelped, before quickly taking his paws away. He could see a raw, red spot emerging from beneath the cobalt fur, and gritted his teeth.

_Damn thing! _He growled internally, his fear momentarily forgotten in his irritation. His scowl then dropped. _Wait, is that an old-style lock? With a keyhole, tumblers and everything? Since when do people use those? _Most security these days was electronic based. Thumbprints, DNA scans and laser beams. Not that it stopped hackers and rogues with multitools, though.

A lock like the one he was looking at was a thing of the past.

_Maybe I am in another world. _The young Dewott glumly thought, remembering his female assailant's nightmarish grin and her stitched mouth. Immediately, he wished he hadn't, and shivered. _What am I supposed to do now?_

His bag was missing as well, to add insult to injury. No gun, no mobile, no food. This day just got better and better, eh?

He turned around and surveyed his surroundings. He once had a Servine friend named Iggy. The guy was always twitching and jumpy, eyes buzzing like flies in those beady little sockets. Look around you. Watch people. Get motivated. That was what his behaviour was like. Never standing still, always on the run.

The caretakers often joked that Iggy had caffeine in his veins instead of iron in his blood. No surprise—the lizard man gargled down at least three cups of that brown sludge every day. How he managed to do so without gagging at the taste, Izanagi never knew.

_Get moving. _Iggy would mutter, if he had been with Izanagi right now. Izanagi could almost hear his friend's pitched, frantic voice. He nearly smiled at the thought. _Look at your surroundings? What do you have?_

"Okay geez Iggy, I'm goin'." Izanagi said, the default response whenever the older boy started yapping in his year. Last time he said it, it was two years ago.

He looked around the cell again. _There's a table, a bed and some steel chains hanging to the wall. And some metal bars and a door behind him, locked. _He sighed. _Yeah, this isn't really much to go on._

Or was it so?

_Look at yourself, you idiot. _The imaginary voice of Iggy growled. In any other situation, Izanagi would have rolled his eyes. _You have you. Focus. What can you do?_

Not much. He glanced down at his paws. It wasn't like they could break through concrete, or bend steel.. Maybe if he had his firearm, he could melt the lock off the door. Then again, judging by how his day—or night, he seriously had no idea—was heading right now, he wouldn't be overly surprised if the lock suddenly came to life, sprouted teeth and tried to chew his head off. Or if the gun suddenly jammed, despite the fact that laser and plasma firearms lacked the capacity to do so, and exploded in his face.

He sat down on the cot with a slump. So much for using himself. Then again, maybe he should have anticipated this outcome from the beginning. The last time he had listened to Iggy's advice, he wound up down on his knees, scrubbing the rancid-smelling basement of the orphanage with a plastic brush.

What to do now, though? His eyes glanced over the barren walls of the room, scanning for anything out of the ordinary. A crack in the hard stone. A hidden flap, leading towards a secret tunnel. Anything that would break the monotony of waiting around and allowing him to do something. Surely, this place had to have something completely insane or unpredictable. That's how stories like these worked, no?

"_That is often correct, young child. Many tales do involve the protagonist finding a secret in his confinement, letting him escape and continue his journey. However, this is reality, so such matters may not apply here. Then again, all myths are said to stem for the truth…"_

"Yeah_, _that's true…" Izanagi muttered, "Having hard time believing that this is my life though…"

"_A young man like you should not attempt to hide from the world. It will only cause pain and regret in the later stages of your life."_

"Regrets, huh…" Izanagi replied. If anything, part of him had this niggling feeling he should be regretful for being dragged down into a void by a mass of shadowy hands and then experimented on by a madwoman. Then again, none of that had been his fault—mostly. "I definitely have some of th—hey wait a minute…"

Izanagi stared, twitched and jumped off the cot onto the hard floor.

"Who's there?" he gasped, eyes alert and wide. Instinctively, his paws curled into fists.

"_About time you noticed. But to answer your question, yes, I am with you right now."_

_A voice! Someone who isn't batshit insane! _Izanagi glanced around the cell and the surrounding corridor. The emptiness and the dusk were the only ones to greet him. Had he been imagining things?

Then again, he concluded, reality and imagination were blurring together in his life, merging into an incomprehensible mess akin to the Downtown Junkyard on a stormy day. Might as well try responding, as there was nothing else to do.

"I can't see you." He vocalized.

"_Of course you can't." _the mysterious voice replied. Also female, Izanagi noted. His previous analysis had been right though—whoever this woman was, she appeared to not possess the desire to viciously maim him. Her tone was calm, almost tender. _"I am not here physically."_

"Then how are you talking to me right now?" Izanagi asked. _Am I wearing a microphone? _

He patted down his body. No plastic, no metal. So much for that idea, then.

"_My ways of communication…are unorthodox, to say the least. The only you need to know is that I can speak to you within your own head, and that I can see and hear everything you say from a certain perspective. You can talk as much as you want, quiet or loud, and I will be able to hear you."_

"Um…sure." Izanagi said. He wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of an unknown figure spying on him from elsewhere, but then again, these circumstance weren't the usual ones. He crossed his arms and sat back down on the cot. "So you, uh, can see what I'm doing right now?"

A pause.

"_You have sat back down and have placed your arms in a crossed position. Am I correct?"_

"Well…yeah."

"_And thus my powers have been confirmed." _Izanagi swore he heard a tinge of smugness in the woman's voice. _"Now then, since that loose thread has been thoroughly tied, how about we discuss more pertinent matters?"_

"Like what?"

"_Your escape."_

That caught Izanagi's attention. He jerked up his head and stared up at the ceiling, for the second time that day, despite knowing that the origin of the voice could not be found there. "What?"

"_Why do you think I contacted you? It certainly was not for idle chat. It was to free you from your predicament."_

"How are you going to do that? And what am I supposed to do afterwards?" _And why are you doing this? _Izanagi found himself pleased—god, he sounded like an old granny or something—to have found a solution to his problem. Still, why was the voice helping him? He still had no idea who, or what, 'she' was. For all he knew, that is to say almost nothing at all, this voice could be an extension of the insane stitched-mouth doll woman, and was secretly leading him into a trap.

"_It would be mutually beneficial if we were to meet. I am trapped elsewhere in this dungeon. Soon, I will unlock the door for you." _The voice responded, _"Once that is done, leave and come to where I have been imprisoned. Then we shall decide on the best course of action."_

"Wait, you want me to find you?" Izanagi exclaimed, "How am I supposed to do that? I don't have a GPS or anything."

"_I will guide you towards our destination." _There was a brief gap in her speech, _"And I am not aware of what a 'GPS' is."_

…_seriously? _

"_Stand away from the steel door, if you please." _The voice commanded, _"I am going to unlock it now."_

The young Dewott complied and retreated towards the end of the cell, pressing his furry back against the cool stone. From there, his eye wandered across to the brass lock, chained to the metal door. How was the voice going to open it again? There was no key, as far as he knew.

"_I shall begin."_

And just like that, Izanagi felt the air shift. It wasn't a displacement in temperature, nor pressure, nor anything he had ever understood before. But something had changed, and was swiftly doing so.

He saw the lock glow. First, it grew a dull orange. Then a dark red, acrid fumes steaming out of the side, not unlike the Downtown weapon manufacturing plant on a bad day. It started to shake, rattle, convulse wildly in its chains…

_Oh cr— _

And it exploded, with the loudest bang Izanagi had ever heard in his entire life.

Chunks of brass flew in all directions, striking and cracking against the rock walls. They glowed with intense heat, before dimming and fading into dull grey.

"Wha…wha…" the young Dewott stuttered, his jaw unhinged, "What the hell was that?"

"_My power." _The voice replied. This time, her speech was fraught with tiredness. , _"Hurry up, Dewott child. That is all I can do for you. Leave this cell."_

"O-okay." Izanagi said. He suddenly noticed that he was shaking. No surprise there, a part of his brain thought. Reality was becoming crazier and weirder with every passing second. He carefully tore his body away from the wall and stepped towards the cell door, making sure he didn't accidentally tread on the pieces of the broken lock. They might be cursed or something. That sounded stupid, indeed, but with these things you could never know.

With his new world, he could never be too careful.

He placed a paw on the cell door and shoved against it. It swung open, as expected. Izanagi peeked his head through, still full of apprehension.

"_Quickly. Move. You must hurry." _The voice urged, _"Exit to your right. Enter the corridor and keep going."_

"Got it." Izanagi muttered, feeling seriously creeped out by the scenario presented to him. He quickly glanced back to see if he had left anything behind—a pointless gesture, took a deep breath, and plunged headfirst into the unknown depths ahead.

_**Import player_0**_

_**Iif 'player_0' and 'process0001' = True**_

_**Execute(aether_tutorial);**_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well, it sure has been a while, hasn't it? Five months might be a record for me. I mean, when I was writing the earlier version of this story in that horrible 'tell don't show' style of mine, I don't think I procrastinated that long? This chapter was supposed to be a bit longer, but I cut stuff down due to pacing and timing issues.**

**I do apologize for the wait. Exams and real life got in the way. But since the former is now over, it means that I have bags time to devote to writing and playing games. I hope you have enjoyed this chapter, and I greatly look forward to writing about this universe in the coming days.**

**Comments or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. **


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